Sorry For Your Loss
by VooDoo Lily
Summary: Set during "Let It Bleed." At the wake, Peter considers the title phrase while trying to avoid thinking of his brother's death. Spoilers for "Ink" and "The Fifth Stage"
1. Chapter 1

Title: Sorry for Your Loss

Summary: Set during "Let It Bleed." At the wake, Peter considers the title phrase as he tries to avoid thinking of his brother's death. Spoilers for "Ink" and "The Fifth Stage"

Notes: Been meaning to post this sooner, but never got around to it till now. The dialogue is from the episode and has been updated to be more accurate.

* * *

"I'm so sorry for your loss," Nathan's aide, Elizabeth, said to Peter.

He acknowledged her words with a slight smile, but it vanished the moment the girl stepped away from him. In the quiet, somber atmosphere of the wake, he heard the low chimes of a clock's bell in the distance as it intoned the hour. A clock had struck the hour that night too…the night Nathan--.

_No_,Peter thought, forcing himself to break that train of thought. Instead, he contemplated the phrase Elizabeth had used earlier, rolling the words around in his head.

_Sorry for your loss_.

He had used the exact words himself when talking to William Hooper about grief.

_People can offer their condolences, they can tell you they're sorry for your loss, but they don't _know_ what it is that you're feeling_, he had said. All his years of experience as a hospice nurse, of seeing families grieving for a loved one, had taught him that it was wiser to keep your mouth shut than to spout the usual remarks. Better to comfort with your presence than with your words.

But, at this moment, no one was there for Peter. He had seen Heidi and the boys retreat to another room in the mansion just before Elizabeth had approached him. His mother had waved to them and was now talking quietly to a fellow mourner Peter did not recognize, nor cared to meet.

He wandered over to the window, looking out at the night sky. He wondered where Sylar was now. Was he still in New York, waiting to strike against him? Or was he already terrorizing more innocent people? Was he ki—

"I keep looking up too," his mother's voice broke into his thoughts, "hoping to see him."

Peter realized she was talking about Nathan. He felt a stab of guilt. He _should _have been thinking of his brother, he knew, but how could he when it hurt so much? As long as he didn't think of Nathan, he could keep the pain at bay. _The worst pain imaginable_, was how he had described it to Hooper. And that was when he had only seen others grieving.

Angela, however, was not helping matters by talking about death and "its complications." Now, she was asking Peter how he was feeling.

"Okay," he managed to say, his voice tight. "I'm okay, Mom."

"Nathan was a better liar."

"Must have gotten that from you," he retorted, unable to suppress the anger that flowed through him as she reminded him of the one person he was trying to forget was gone. The next instant, though, he collected himself and sighed, regretting his words. "I'm sorry. You don't deserve that."

"Oh, sure, I do," she said calmly. "I deserve every ounce of your wrath."

"No, you don't. I just... want to put my fist through a wall right now," he confessed.

"No, you want to put a fist through Sylar," she corrected.

He didn't bother to deny it. "What do you want, Mom?"

What Angela wanted was to dissuade him from fighting Sylar, but Peter didn't want to hear it, and he didn't want to hear it from her. Her speech reminded him too much of how she had tried to talk him out of going after Sylar right after Thanksgiving, back when he could still hope that Nathan... And when she told him she couldn't bear to lose him too, he just couldn't find it in himself to completely believe her. After all, this was the woman who had lied to him about his brother's death for months, who had let him talk to and embrace Nathan's murderer.

He was distracted from his inner turmoil by Claire's arrival.

"Claire's here," he informed his mother, going over to hug his niece. Both mother and son knew that Peter was using the blonde girl's presence as an excuse to get away from Angela, and soon enough, Claire knew it too.

"You trying to escape?" she asked her uncle when he requested that she go with him to the kitchen.

"As quickly as possible," he assured her. He had not spoken with such honesty since he had delivered the eulogy earlier that day.


	2. Chapter 2

Notes: For by7the7sea, who suggested I write about Peter and Claire's conversation in the kitchen during "Let It Bleed." The dialogue is from the episode.

* * *

Once alone with Claire in the kitchen, Peter loosened his tie, grateful to feel less restricted, if only in a physical sense.

"Hey, where's your dad?" he casually asked Claire as they began slicing lemons and limes for the guests. "I didn't see him out there." He briefly wondered whether Noah had chosen not to show up out of shame or guilt, until he heard Claire's answer.

"Uh, I asked him not to come," she admitted.

"Ah. You're pissed," he quietly observed.

"You're not?"

"Oh, I am," he assured her.

"Good. Because you're about the only person who's on the same page as me."

He was silent, wondering if she too was contemplating getting revenge on Sylar.

"That's a hell of a lie," Claire said, referring to the cover-up orchestrated by Angela and Noah.

"They were trying to protect us," Peter pointed out. He could understand Angela's and Noah's reasoning. Despite his anger and disgust at their prolonged lie, at this terrible charade he had lived through with Sylar's body being in Nathan's form, compounded by the cover-up of Nathan's death, he could understand why they felt the need to shield their children from the truth.

"Yeah, that's fine. I get that," Claire agreed. "I mean, did they really think they were just going to get away with it? Forever? That we would just never find out?" Her knife slipped in her hand, cutting her finger. "Ow!" she exclaimed. "Damn it!"

Peter reached over to examine her cut. "Let me see."

"It's not healing," Claire realized.

He handed her a dish towel to staunch the bleeding. "I have the Haitian's power. I'll, uh, sorry, I'll turn it off."

"No, don't, don't," she told him.

The paramedic stared at her, a little surprised she had refused him. "Let me find you a Band-Aid."

"A Band-Aid," the college student repeated, chuckling. "I have not used a Band-Aid in forever." He glanced at her, remembering the last time _he _had used a Band-Aid. It had been to cover a scrape he had sustained during his fight with Sylar in the hospital. He had needed a few of them actually, as well as an ice pack and some ibuprofen.

Now, as he bandaged Claire's minor cut, his niece added, "It's nice to feel pain, feel normal."

"We're anything but," Peter argued. "Normal." Suddenly, that fact, which he had once been so elated by, now stung him. If he and Nathan had not had abilities, they would have never tangled with Sylar, and Nathan would still be...here.

"Mourning Nathan could not be more ordinary," Claire argued, breaking into his thoughts. "That's what we're here to do—to… cut lemons and limes and remember that…." She paused, and Peter looked at her, wondering what she would say about the biological father she didn't get to spend enough time with. "Stupid jerk," Claire finished, her slight chuckle taking the insult out of her words. "I can't believe he's gone," she softly added.

_Me either_, Peter silently agreed, glancing at her as he prepared to slice more fruit.

"Well," Claire continued, "I hope he could find heaven because he was a terrible navigator. I mean, for a guy who could fly."

_Oh, I don't know,_ Peter thought to himself. _He found Kirby Plaza all right. He got there in time to save you from shooting me. Got there in time to stop me from blowing up New York City_.

Claire was starting to laugh now, and Peter couldn't help feeling another twinge of irritation at the thought that Nathan was the subject of her laughter.

"Why are you laughing? What's so funny?" he inquired.

"He gave me endless grief for dating a guy who could fly. He said I had daddy issues, which, I do."

Her uncle saw his chance to steer the conversation towards someone else, and he took it. "Whatever happened to that kid? What was his name?"

"West. He goes to NYU. We're Facebook friends."

Peter nodded politely, now concentrating on arranging the cut fruit on a silver tray to keep his mind occupied.

The blonde girl gave a sigh. "It's nice telling stories. It makes it a little easier." She paused, and he could feel her eyes on him. "What about you? You must have a million of 'em."

Something in her tone made him look at her again, and he saw the expression of sorrow in her eyes, as if she understood for the first time how hard he must be taking this.

Peter bit his lip, holding back the words that came to mind, the stories of Nathan he did have and wanted to tell his niece. But he couldn't bring himself to say them out loud. It would make Nathan's passing all too real. So, instead, he picked up the silver tray of lemons and limes and said, "I'm going to take these out there."

Claire watched him leave the kitchen, wondering whether she had said something wrong.


End file.
